


shapes of essence

by wanderingalonelypath



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, and honestly i wouldn't know what to do with their daemons anyway, blackwall and cole aren't in this because i kinda forgot about them, daemons in thedas headcanons, general warning for templars/the circle in the first parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24744130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingalonelypath/pseuds/wanderingalonelypath
Summary: A rebel, her daemon, and the Inquisition.ORCircle Mage daemons always settled small. Lyara's didn't.
Relationships: Josephine Montilyet/Female Trevelyan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	shapes of essence

Circle Mages always settled small. It was a fact of life.

Apprentices and Enchanters alike spent years upon years theorizing why. Many thought it was the intelligent magic of daemons: a force beyond regular magic and even Fade magic that was clever enough to give Circle Mages small daemons to adapt to their surroundings. They’re stuck in a tower for most of their lives; it wouldn’t do to have a large daemon in a place so small and crowded. So Circle Mages settled as birds and small mammals and lizards and little snakes. Unassuming. Easy to stay out of the way. Not useful in a fight. They attributed this to the intelligence of daemon magic.

Lyara thought she knew a better reason though.

The endless chirping of songbirds during her formative years in the Circle gave her another theory. Circle Mages were raised like prize songbirds; pretty, taken care of, but locked in that gilded cage for the rest of their life. Magical, but when it came down to it: useless. She whispered as much to Halariel one night, a year before their Harrowing. They had just watched another Apprentice-or Mage now- be carried back from their Harrowing, their daemon trotting blearily behind them as a newly-settled ocelot. Mages always settled after their Harrowings. Circle Mages always settled small.

Halariel, curled around her neck as a small corn snake, shivered with fear.

She was careful to keep in line when they were younger. She caught on to the rules of this world faster than most magelings her age. Do your work. Keep your head down. Don’t make eye contact with the Templars; some of them take it as an act of rebellion. Do what your instructors tell you to. Don’t talk too loud. Act like you can’t feel the Templar’s eyes on you when you bathe.

When they finally come for you, don’t fight back.

She made sure Halariel followed the rules too. He could be anything, unsettled as he was, but she begged him to stay small. Unthreatening. He favored mice and snakes while they were in classes and at lunch, small cats and dogs while researching in the library, and when she woke up from nightmares about her parents dragging her, kicking and screaming, to the Circle, never to lay eyes on her again, he curled around her as the biggest, furriest mammal he could get away with.

(He never asked about her nightmares because he already knew. Just like he knew when they were little, but old enough to understand why her father hated them and her mother looked at them with regret. With her too-big, too-bright green eyes and small bones, she figured it out much too easily when one of her mother’s elven servants was fired on her fifth birthday. She went up to the balcony to watch him leave and as he turned, she caught a glimpse of bright green eyes, the same shade as her own.)

They adapted like they always do. They figured out the rules and they followed, even if their heart was poisoned with thoughts of rebellion and a fire that burned so brightly against the injustice they faced that she feared even trying to use fire magic. She specialized in ice instead, and used the steady freeze to cool her more dangerous impulses.

During her Harrowing, she had to fight a demon of Rage.

She didn’t wake up until well into the next morning, expecting to find Halariel perched on her chest as a bird, or snuggled on her neck as a weasel. Instead, for a moment she couldn’t see him at all and thought the worst. Had they cut him away from her? Did she fail so badly they gave her the brand? Until, suddenly, she heard the sound of heavy hooves beating the floor next to her bunk.

Halariel did not settle small.

He was magnificent, with a sleek red coat and tall, proud antlers. She knew if she stood next to him, they would make him taller than her. He leaned his head down carefully, trying to avoid knocking them against the top bunk, and nuzzled his snout into her neck. It shocked a laugh out of her and she ran a hand down the neck of the magnificent red deer that her soul had become.

Somehow she knew she was never destined to be small.

The Ostwick Circle of Magi was sent into shock for weeks. No mage in the last hundred years had settled so large; none of the Templars stationed in the Tower, even, had such a large daemon. They were given a wide berth, partly out of fear and partly because Halariel needed all the extra space he could get. He was so large that she had no doubt she could ride him, if she wished and if he let her.

But that was a dangerous train of thought to head down, and she quickly tried to fall back into her normal routine. 

Soon enough, Ostwick grew used to the Mage with the deer daemon, hooves hard enough to trample and antlers sharp enough to impale. The Templars kept their distance, and never tried to touch her the way she used to let them when she and Halariel both were small, cowering Apprentices. They weren’t small anymore, and if she had anything to say about it, they would never be small again.

It was nearly 8 years later that the Rebellion finally began.

She was ready. If she was honest with herself, she had been ready for years. When the call finally reached Ostwick and most of the Templars left peacefully, she and Halariel were left with the ones who remained. The nastiest ones, who meted out the most Tranquilities and came after Apprentices in the night, clamping heavy metal gauntlets over their mouths to muffle screams.

By the time they left, finally left, the Circle the next morning, her robes and his antlers were stained red.

__________________

It was much easier to live on the run with Halariel. There were challenges of course; namely Templars who wanted to kill them just for being mages or hateful common folk who feared them for the same reason, but there was room to breathe like never before. The first time she saw a field of wildflowers it nearly brought her to tears, and they stayed in that field for the entire day.

She decided against joining up with a group; mostly because all the ones she came across were more akin to bandits attacking innocent people rather than rebels fighting for freedom. They did alright for themselves. Hunting wasn’t too hard to pick up after a while. Magic was good for that, she discovered. Not only killing the animals but cooking the meat and preserving the leftovers in her pack. This way, she didn’t have to hunt for food every night.

Besides, it wasn’t like she could go home.

_______________

After a year of wandering up and down the Free Marches, she heard whisperings of a Conclave to be held in Ferelden. All the major players were to gather there: representatives from both the Mages and the Templars, upper echelons of the Chantry, even the Divine herself. Lyara wasted no time booking passage to Fereldan.

Haven was miserable, and small. It was groaning under the weight of all those camped out to hear the verdicts of the Conclave, and there was no shortage of variety among the attendants. Chantry sisters brushed shoulders with Qunari mercenaries and Dwarven merchants; she even saw a few telltale heads of red hair among the Templars that she avoided as best she could, pulling her hood up and hiding behind Halariel. She lingered on the outskirts of the Mage camp, listening to the whisperings of Fiona’s people on what was happening in the Temple.

And, with her luck, she picked the absolute worst day to journey up the mountain and listen in on the talks herself.

________

The next time she woke up, she was chained to the floor and Halariel was dancing angry circles around her, keeping the swords pointed at her safely away. She wracked her brain for whatever she had done to be imprisoned like this before her hand exploded into green lightning.

It burned like wildfire and looked like someone had taken a slice out of the Fade itself and burrowed it into her palm.

She didn’t have much time to be horrified, as the door burst open and two women walked in, setting into motion the worst chapter of her life by far.

___________

The first one to ask her about Halariel was, unsurprisingly, Seeker Cassandra.

She was careful to keep to her formalities with the intimidating woman, always ‘Seeker’ or ‘Seeker Cassandra’. She had called her ‘Lady’ once, and took the twisting of her face as a sign to never call her that again. The Seeker kept her at arm's length as well; ‘Lady Trevelyan’ or ‘Herald’ was all she ever heard from her, including tonight, just after they finished making camp in the Hinterlands.

Solas was making stew over the fire, his daemon Ignifica perched on his shoulder. Lyara still hadn’t quite figured out what kind of spider she was, but she was colored a deep black and was always inscrutable. Varric was fiddling with Bianca’s string, his mimid daemon, Alkera, hopping about on top of his head, occasionally flapping her wings as she whispered jokes to him. Lyara was sat upon the ground, mixing healing poultices and leaning back against Halariel’s bulk as he took a nap.

Seeker Cassandra herself was tending to her sword, shooting glances at Lyara and Halariel now and then, as if the mage couldn’t feel her gaze every time it landed on her. Dolmeryn, a sleek greyhound, was curled at her feet and making no attempts at hiding his outright staring. Daemons were always quick to give away their person’s true thoughts and impulses, especially dog daemons.

“Seeker?” She asked, not looking up from her mortar as she ground more elfroot. “Have you something to say?”

The air held tension immediately. The soft twinging of Varric’s bowstring stopped immediately, as did the tiny voice of his daemon. Solas continued making dinner, but she knew he was listening intently, as he always did. She finished grinding her ingredients before leaning back, fixing her gaze on the Seeker to make sure they had this conversation. Halariel didn’t move from his position, but she knew he was awake now.

Dolmeryn got up from the ground, sitting on his haunches and leaning against the Seeker, probably as a show of support. Varric was watching the two of them with a slight smirk, now stroking Alkera’s feathers from where she stood on his finger. The Seeker opened her mouth and then closed it, seeming to have trouble forming the words she wanted.

“In my experience, Herald,” She began slowly, Dolmeryn pawing at the ground uneasily. “Circle Mage daemons settle on the smaller side.” Halariel huffed, quiet enough that no one could hear but her, and she let a small smile stretch across her face. She knew he unnerved the Seeker and her daemon. Halariel was large enough to trample Dolmeryn and Cassandra if pressed.

It was one of the first things they did, after joining the Inquisition. Catalog how many of them they could kill if worse came to worst. If they decided that she did kill the Divine after all, or if all of this ended with the Circles being reinstated. 

Too bad she already decided they’d never take her back to the Circle alive.

She looked back at the Seeker. “That is common, yes.” She finally said, wrapping her ingredients and tucking them back into their pouch. “But I was never meant to be small.”

The Seeker stared at, eyebrow raised in astonishment. Lyara let her sit in it for a moment before continuing.

“Although, I suppose you’d prefer if I played the good little mage and had something small, like a cat or a songbird.” She smirked at her, something almost like challenge coloring her words. Dolmeryn was bristling now, lip beginning to curl back over sharp teeth to growl. Halariel picked his head up, massive antlers glinting in the light from the fire.

“But I’ve never been a good little mage.”

___________

If Seeker Cassandra was wary, Val Royeaux was downright hostile.

From the second they stepped foot into the capital city Halariel was glued to her side, head held high, green eyes almost glowing in the bright sun as he watched every noble that passed them by. Her companions and their daemons were similarly tense. Alkera was still and silent on Varric’s shoulder and she couldn’t see Ignifica at all. Dolmeryn was tense as he padded next to Cassandra; if he had any extra fur it would surely be standing on end.

Once they finally made it to the center of the market, the roar of conversation dropped off until only one voice remained; a pissed off Chantry Mother whose daemon was, of all the wonderfully ironic things, a clucking hen. Her following speech only proved to Lyana that they never should’ve considered the Templars as allies in the first place.

The mages were fighting for freedom. What were the Templars fighting for, if not their own selfish desire to see all mages contained or killed?

She and Halariel were only too happy to leave the city by the end of it all. He looked as if he would run the Lord Seeker through with his horns if he blathered on for another minute. Thankfully, they were stopped on their way out of the city by Grand Enchanter Fiona, and Lyara jumped at the chance to ally with her fellow mages.

____________________

The next one to comment on the unusual state of her soul was a brash elf named Sera. Once they had jumped through all the hoops and solved all the clues she left them, they finally met up with the mysterious ‘Red Jenny’. She was as mischievous as her daemon, a raccoon colored an unusual blonde to match her person’s hair.

Vyralel, or ‘Vee’ as Sera called her, had perched silently on the archer’s back through their preliminary conversation. Lyara could see Sera was bursting at the seams to say something about Halariel, but Vee beat her to it.

“Well, you're a big one, yeah?” 

Halariel snorted, giving a small toss of his head at her. “And you’re small.”

Vee, instead of taking offense, snickered. “I noticed.”

Sera cut into the conversation finally, scratching Vee’s head to quiet her down. Lyara had a feeling they fought for who talked a lot of the time. “Aren’t magey’s usually....tiny?” She flapped her hand about, and Lyara smirked at her.

“I’m not your usual mage.”

She seemed to take it in stride.

_______________

The posh salon was no place for her and Halariel, that much was clear as soon as they entered. It was full of glittering floors, glittering Orlesians, and glittering daemons. Orlesians had a habit of decorating their daemons as heavily as they decorated themselves; they saw many a lynx and panther draped in gold necklaces and silver earrings. They also tended toward cat forms, and large, ostentatious birds.

But none were so impressive as Madame De Fer’s herself. 

He prowled behind her as she slunk down the stairs, rippling with powerful muscles and covered with an impeccable white coat. It was obvious with one look that he needed no further decoration. She had never seen such a brilliant shade on a lion before, but two words into a conversation with First Enchanter Vivienne and she knew that the white lion suited her perfectly.

Their ideals didn’t quite match, but Lyara, and Lady Vivienne herself, could tell that they were both two of a kind.

Halariel and Jainen agreed.

__________________

The next recruit to their motley crew was perhaps one of the most unexpected. A Qunari mercenary captain named ‘The Iron Bull’ offered his mercenary band and information he had access to as a spy, despite how untrustworthy that made him sound from the get-go. At first, it didn’t seem like he had a daemon, but she had just been keeping her distance during the fight, and soon crept out from behind a nearby rock. The sheep was practically puny next to her person, but her horns were just as impressive at least.

The Bull and Aynora barely blinked when Halariel returned to her side, nearly the same height as the massive Qunari. Aynora barked a laugh at him, voice rough and low. “Nice horns.” She said.

Halariel huffed. “They’re antlers...but thanks.”

___________________

She was a bit too focused on the rifts and the time magic and the entire mage rebellion pledging themselves to a magister (because honestly, what the FUCK) to take much notice of Dorian Pavus’ daemon. He stuck to the darkness for most of their conversation, startling the entire group of them when he spoke up from behind Dorian’s legs, hidden in the shadows of the nearby torch sconce.

“You had to know you were walking into something dangerous as soon as you walked through the gate.” His voice was clear and smooth like the richest honey, and the torchlight glittered on the sharp fangs hidden behind a beautiful, deceiving face. A caracal may be small, may look like nothing more than a large housecat, but Lyara could feel the power in him.

“Matravo,” Dorian chastised him, but he sounded more amused than disapproving. Matravo wound through his legs, tail flicking sinuously as he gazed up at her, then her daemon. He gave what passed for a feline grin at the sight of Halariel.

“Ooh, this should be fun.” He purred.

Halariel snuffed, saying nothing, but she could feel that he liked these newcomers, as dangerous as they might end up being.

______________________

It took her some time to warm up to Commander Cullen if you could say she ever did.

There was the obvious, of course. The former Knight-Captain to one of the worst Circles in Thedas? She was downright hostile to him for those first few months at Haven. To his credit, he did try his best to get along with her, and he wasn’t quite the stereotypical Templar; at the very least, he wasn’t stark raving about locking all the mages back up.

But he was still a Templar, right down to his core. Or his vambraces, she supposed, given that they were both emblazoned with the flaming sword of the Templar Order. It rankled her. Every time she caught sight of them she could feel how tense Halariel got.

And his daemon was, of all things, a bloodhound.

She looked unassuming, especially when Cullen was scratching her ears and crooning “Audrin” at her, but Lyara didn’t let her guard. There was no telling how many mages Audrin had helped him hunt down. There was no telling that she wouldn’t end up being one of them.

He didn’t seem any more comfortable with her or Halariel, either. After she recruited the mages as allies, she was almost afraid that an honest-to-Maker battle would break out between them. Almost. Because for all of his glinting armor and shiny sword and muscles, she was fairly certain she could take him in a fight. Even if he smited her, Halariel would run him through with his antlers before he could take advantage of it.

They were deadlocked, for now. He needed her to close the rifts: she needed him to lead the army.

So, suffice it to say, they stayed out of each other’s way.

___________

The Lady Nightingale was, in a word, intimidating.

She had heard whispers of her around the Conclave, before it all went to hell. The Left Hand of the Divine, Most Holy’s Shadow, she had plenty of terrifying names that she completely lived up to. At a distance, Leliana looked like nothing more than a slight Orlesian bard, but those who spent more than a moment in her presence would see that she earned all of her monikers.

This was helped, of course, by Sirphiro.

He was beautiful in the deadliest sort of way: glistening black scales topped by yellow eyes so bright they almost glowed. He was always coiled around the spymaster’s neck, powerful python muscles restricting and contracting even as his face remained impassive. He hardly ever spoke, but when he did, everyone in the room quieted to listen. Halariel held a sort of somber respect for him, despite being thrice his size and easily able to trample him.

She supposed it was parallel to her own respect for Leliana, who was just as terrifying when conducting missions at the war table as she was when giving Lyara a shovel talk when she started to grow closer to Lady Josephine.

She was invaluable, especially when Lyara found out her views on mages, which only caused them to grow closer.

There was no question on who she supported for Divine, once the time came.

_____________-

Lady Josephine Montilyet was one of the most engaging people she had ever met, and she was instantly captivated with her. From the moment she set eyes on her at their first war table meeting, she was drawn to her in a way she didn’t quite understand. She couldn’t tell if it was her accent, which was downright _decadent _when wrapping around her name, or her skin that reminded her of those little caramel cakes her great Aunt used to serve at her balls, which were the only reason she ever actually went to any of them.__

__Perhaps it was simply the way she could talk to her, for hours, about anything. The way that, once they were alone in her vast chambers, drinking from one of the many expensive bottles of wine that she had no need for (besides to share with beautiful women), Lady Josephine dropped the formalities and became Josie, and Lady Herald became, simply, Lyara._ _

__Maybe it was the way Halariel and Finnero, her cotton-top tamarin daemon, seemed to get along from the very beginning. The way that, after only a few late-night talks over wine, Finnero saw no problem in clambering up onto Halariel’s back and snuggling there for a nap, or when Halariel saw no problem in leaning his head down to make it easier for him.  
And, after the night after Summersday, when she and Josie shared their first kiss, Finnero and Halariel were nearly inseparable when they were together. Much like Lyara and her Lady Josephine._ _

**Author's Note:**

> i've been writing this for like 3 weeks, please take it from me. hope you enjoyed!


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